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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458572">august 10th 2019</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship'>bstarship</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the risk of moving on [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I made myself sad, I'm Sorry, Irondad, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sad, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Loves Peter Parker, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark misses Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:33:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the first snap, Tony speaks to Peter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the risk of moving on [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>august 10th 2019</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i had planned to write something for tony's birthday yesterday. it was going to be similar to this where he would celebrate his first birthday after the 2018 snap. but then i thought, oh i could make this so much worse. and i'm so sorry</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning had been quiet.</p><p>Street corners were empty without vendors to sell hotdogs and soft pretzels. Parks became a breeding ground for invasive plant life, and street lamps barely flickered with the last few moments of darkness left. The city had gone missing.</p><p>Tony still remembered the woman crying on the fire escape. With her laundry draped over a thin wire, she fell to her knees, and a tense sob wracked through her. He stood in the shadows and watched in silence as she cried. Not a day went by when he hadn’t wanted to do the same. The first year of grief was always the hardest, his therapist told him. Tony wanted to help the woman, but she brought herself back up to her feet before he could muster the strength to move. They all wore the same shoes.</p><p>Most days, he hated himself. He hated passing the graffiti, the mountains of memorials and tributes pasted to empty walls, and the boarded-up businesses that had been left unloved, untouched. He hated living every day with his full lungs of air—no dust—only to remember that he could have done better. He could have done more. <em>He could have saved them.</em></p><p>But he had to keep going. Every day. A neverending cycle of guilt and regret and so much love for the life he and Pepper had. He had to live every day wishing he had lost more in order to feel what everyone else felt.</p><p>The roads he once drove had weeds growing in the cracks. Rats roamed more than humans did. How could Tony live with the fact that he had the chance to keep this from becoming a reality?</p><p>He emptied the contents of his heart on the streets, walking the paths that strangers had taken before he held the responsibility of their lives in his hands. It wasn’t something to blink and forget—it was the rest of his life. It was looking down an avenue and seeing where he had once built a home only to realize that nothing would ever be the same again. It was staring at a building in Queens he once parked outside of on a warm June day, not realizing that, back then, his life would forever be changed at the hands of a fourteen-year-old kid.</p><p>Some days were fine. They were better than others. Some days, he watched old movies and made dinner for a family-to-be without having to click through the TV channels for something uplifting. Some days, his smiles were genuine and he could work on his projects in peace. And some days, he thought about Peter Parker, and the light was gone.</p><p>Tony felt responsible for losing half of the world, but he knew he was responsible for losing Peter. There was no one left to be angry with Tony after that. May was the rock that brought him back down to earth. She was gone, and Peter was gone, and Tony was alive, but he was gone, too.</p><p>No one spoke about Spider-Man, not anymore. Tony didn’t either.</p><p>He had kept his distance from Queens for quite some time. But today—he couldn’t fathom the idea of staying away. The building was a reminder that, while life carried on for some, half of the city’s soul had gone missing. Half of the world. The universe. Bacteria, microbes, plants, animals, <em>existence</em>. And all Tony fucking cared about was Peter Parker.</p><p>The steps up to the seventh floor were scuffed. The elevator had broken long ago and the landlord had lost the funds to fix it. When life fell apart, everything else did, too.</p><p>Tony remembered how he felt that first day. Terrified was the first thing that came to mind. He was running out of time, out of energy, and his hope was in the hands of a kid in goggles. But Tony knew a little bit about faith, and he had that in Peter. His fear over the current events was drowned out by excitement.</p><p>The first smile was real. It was genuine as he turned, walnut date loaf in hand, and said, “oh, Mister Parker.” He saw a face that reminded him of a kid he met in Tennessee.</p><p>When excitement melted into a serious conversation at hand, Tony’s faith had become confidence. Peter was passionate. He cared. He would dedicate himself if need be, and that scared Tony the most. He saw himself in Peter, and he realized that responsibility now belonged to him. Whatever Peter chose to do with his powers after Germany, if he bled—if he suffered at all—the blood was on Tony’s hands.</p><p>Tony’s biggest mistake was thinking that he wasn’t ready to share a connection with Peter. His biggest mistake was missing out on the happiness the kid exhibited with the new opportunity. After the first day, Tony knew. He knew that nothing would ever be the same, and it took some time to realize that it was okay.</p><p>He traced the brass letters on the door. If he knocked, he half-expected May to answer. But no one lived there, not yet. The old belongings sat, unmoving and collecting dust from the full year of unuse. No one lived in the apartment anymore. No one loved or laughed. What had been so persistent and wonderful now resided in memory. No burial, no tombstone or urn to memorialize a loved one. Nothing to bring closure to his grief. Tony’s heart throbbed as he rested his hand against the doorknob.</p><p>The lock slipped open with ease from the few times he picked it in the past. His body froze as the door creaked, and the toes of his shoes barely crossed over the threshold into a room he dreaded stepping into. He took it all in. The couch. The kitchen. The improperly hung lamp over a dining table he helped Peter work on his math homework at. The moment never occurred again, but its memory was burned into Tony’s brain—Peter’s sleepy frown mixed with their growling stomachs called for Tony’s first-ever visit to Delmar’s down the block. Old mail remained on the kitchen counter along with May’s keys. The plants on the window sill had died.</p><p>Tony held his breath as he walked in, slowly and carefully as if he were afraid to wake Peter from down the hall. He smiled at the memory of Peter on those early mornings before a day at the compound. Tony preferred thrown pillows and grumbled insults to staring at a cold, stale room that gathered dust instead of joy. The energy that once filled the apartment with warmth had died with them.</p><p>
  <em>“May Parker? Hi, I’m—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Tony fucking Stark. I-I’m—sorry. Yes, I know who you are. Hi.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hi. Is Mister Parker here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh no. My husband actually—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Peter? Is he here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He should be on his way home from school. Are you—what are you here for? Did he hack into your company or something?”</em>
</p><p>Tony remembered his laughter.He had been nervous that day.</p><p>
  <em>“No. I’m sure he might’ve told you, but he recently applied for a grant. September Foundation. I’m here to personally tell him that he won it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh. Oh my, God. Wow. Okay, okay. Come on in. Can I offer you something to eat? Drink? I just bought this weird walnut date loaf, if you’d like. And I’ll make us some tea.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Tea would be nice. Thank you.”</em>
</p><p>Tony stared down at the bedroom down the hall. The door was cracked open, belongings left untouched from the morning Peter lost his life. Tony couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel his jaw tighten or his fingers clench into fists. Not lost. Gone. <em>Gone</em>. Never to take a step back in that room ever again. Never to breathe and cry and laugh. He would never grow old with his friends by his side. He would never make another soul proud of his accomplishments. He would never save another life. He would never fall in love and start a family. He would never feel another hug. He would never see another sunrise or sunset. He would never again share his stories or jokes with Tony during a long afternoon upstate, nothing but the sounds of tools and metal filling up the dead space. He was never going to celebrate another birthday. Never. <em>Never.</em></p><p>Peter’s door was warm beneath Tony’s palm. He pushed it open slowly, breath catching in his throat as tears pricked beneath his eyes. The boy who had lived in there was gone. And Tony stood in his place—living, breathing, existing, and trying his best to not cry. No one was left. No one was there.</p><p>Tony sat down on the bed. His lip trembled as he looked around the room—the posters, the action figures, and the mess of computer parts strewn on Peter’s desk. Spider-Man had died with Peter. All that existed of him was a homemade suit with burn marks and large slices cut through the sleeves. But Tony refused to look at what was left of that suit. He refused to remember a time when he struggled to care.</p><p>He took a breath and closed his eyes. “Hey, Pete,” he said, smiling through the tears that threatened to fall. “You there, bud?”</p><p>Silence answered him.</p><p>Tony hummed. “Well, if you are, I got you something—“ He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a card. It had a number on the front in bright blue letters. 18. Tony set it down on the desk, and poorly scribbled, illegible handwriting peeked out from the inside. “Yeah. Happy birthday, kid. I know you were probably expecting a sports car or some mind-control contraption, so I’m sorry to let you down.”</p><p>A few birds chirped outside. It was a small moment to remind Tony that life still existed. But the one life he hated to live without no longer did.</p><p>“Don’t read it yet,” he continued. “It’s a real sap-fest. Embarrassing stuff I don’t wanna be in the room for. Here, we’ll start a bet—if it makes you cry, you get to spend an hour in a suit. <em>My </em>suit. Seems like an opportunity that’s impossible to pass on if you ask me. So, get down here and accept the challenge.”</p><p>He paused, fingers grazing his knuckles as he tried to find peace in the moment. The room was empty yet full of belongings. If there was no life, there was nothing at all.</p><p>“I’m gonna say this every day until I fuckin’ die,” Tony said, exhaling slowly, “but I am so sorry, Pete. This—I shouldn’t—I don’t deserve… I can practically hear you telling me to shut up. I know. No self-pity in the Parker residence. I haven’t learned my lesson. But you’re—you’re gone, and I miss our self-deprecating humor sometimes. It wasn’t as sad when we both did it.”</p><p>He leaned forward on his knees. “God, sometimes I still believe it’s a dream. Y’know? I still think I’m gonna close my eyes and wake up to you yelling at me to kill the spider in the bathroom. And you would tell me that you can’t kill your own species—it’d be too cruel. Which, now that I think about it, is fucking hilarious. Yeah, you were funny sometimes, I’ll admit it. Don’t let your head get too big. Jesus, I really wish you had something to say right now. Anything. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me to not be sad. Tell me how to handle losing a goddamn <em>son</em>. Because—fuck, Pete, you were like a son to me. You weren’t just Spider-Man. You weren’t just Peter. Y-you became a part of me.”</p><p>There was nothing. A soulless room that barely clung onto the personality that once lived there.</p><p>“So, now you really know the truth,” Tony said after the tightness in his chest loosened. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Fucked up that it’s been a year since you died, and I just finally admitted it. <em>God</em>. I’m pathetic, huh? It’s your birthday, and I’m conjuring up the world’s worst sob story. Sorry, kid. I’m really sorry. Hey, if you’re around next week, I’d like to show you some stuff. Suit designs. Stuff I never got to run by you when you were…” Tony cleared his throat. “So, yeah. Same time next week. Bring some snacks, though, would ya? I’m starving.”</p><p>After that, Tony stood, memorizing the creaks in the bedsprings and the way the dust settled around him. He didn’t move.</p><p>“You’re somethin’ else, kiddo,” Tony muttered. “Stop being so stubborn and come back. Just—just come back, okay? We miss you. I miss you.”</p><p>He chipped away at the paint on the door and waited for an answer that would never come. With a smile, he allowed one last glance at the room of Peter Parker.</p><p>“See you soon, Pete,” Tony said. He closed the door behind him, and the birthday card slipped down to the floor. It sat open, face up toward the sky for Peter to read.</p><p> </p>
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